The Digital Dream Read online

  “I’ve been giving some thought to where we can go to check this leak. There’s a federal system I’ve accessed before that contains details of all government contracts. If we can find the Able-Air records, we can follow the network links out from there and just see what else we come across.”

  When the computer system signals that it is ready, she starts to feed in instructions. After a few minutes, she has navigated through the network and is knocking on the electronic door of a computer located somewhere in Washington. The door opens with an ease that I find incredible but Kathleen seems to accept as natural.

  We find the contract surprisingly quickly. In itself, it is unremarkable, but supporting documentation gives us details about who has been involved in negotiating and concluding the deal. In other machines, we find copies of the tender evaluation report. This has been prepared by a team of five Naval officers and six officials from the Department of Defense with support from diverse technical experts. The team has reported to a house committee on defense expenditure. There are several versions of the report on file. I glance through them, rubbing at the bridge of my nose to try to stave off my tiredness. Moments later, I sit back, shock hitting me.

  “The reports with the earlier dates,” I say slowly, “show Able-Air lying third in the evaluation. By the last report, the evaluation criteria used to make the recommendation have been altered. It’s had the effect of moving Able-Air to the top of the list. That’s not supposed to happen. It’s like changing the rules of a football match after it’s been played.”

  “That might tie in with something else I saw,” says Kathleen thoughtfully. She works the keyboard to bring up another part of the display. “According to this, three members of the original evaluation team were transferred off the project before the report was finalized.”

  “You’re right.” I make a note of their names.

  We decide that the next thing to do is to check travel plans of people involved with the evaluation to see whether they journeyed to France when the press reports claimed they did; and to check the bank accounts of the officials who, according to the reporter, have received pay-offs. I leave Kathleen working her way through the computer systems and walk to my office, thinking as I go. Inside my office, I re-read the list of names in my hand and reach for the telephone directory.

  ***

  I try three numbers before I make contact any of the people I want to talk to, but the recipient of the call refuses point-blank to talk to me. It takes six more numbers before I have any better luck.

  “Hello? Could I speak to John Santini, please?”

  “Speaking.” The voice on the other end of the phone line sounds wary.

  “Mr Santini, my name is Peter Richards.” I make the name up on the spur of the moment. “I’m a reporter with the L.A. Times. We’ve been told that you were a member of the Department of Defense team that evaluated responses to the Navy’s Request for Tender for jet trainers.”

  There’s a pause. “H... how did you know about that?” The official stutters slightly and keeps the volume low. The voice is still tinged with caution but there are other emotions there. Nervousness, even fear. I try to picture the man from his voice. Fifty-ish, thin and bespectacled, sitting in his hallway holding the phone with a shaking hand, speaking low into the mouthpiece in case someone hears him.

  I take a chance. “We asked for details of the evaluation under the freedom of information legislation.”

  To my relief, Santini doesn’t challenge the statement. “Look, Mr—Richards, is it? I’m a federal official and my department’s policy is to ask reporters to file inquiries through official channels.”

  “I know that, Mr Santini.” I try to make my voice as reasonable and non-threatening as possible. “Believe me, we don’t want to do anything to embarrass you. And if you talk to us, we’re quite happy for it to be off the record. We’ll keep your name right out of it. As I’m sure you know, we never divulge the names of our sources. It’s just that we think you might be able to shed some light on some strange information we’ve received.”

  Santini is cautious but at least he’s still talking, voice shaky. “What do you want to know?”

  “Well, could you just confirm that you were a member of the evaluation team?”

  “Y.. yes, of course I was,” he stammers. “As you say, that’s a matter of public record, anyway.”

  “It’s been alleged that members of the team were flown to Europe on some sort of junket by Able-Air. Do you have any knowledge of anything like that occurring?”

  “No, I do not.” Santini’s indignation seems to overwhelm his wariness: the stammer disappears. “I most certainly did not travel to Europe as anybody’s guest. It would have been quite improper. And as far as I know, none of my colleagues went either.”

  “Are you certain about that, Mr Santini?”

  “Well, how can I be certain? But I think I would have known. After all, the team was meeting regularly and I don’t recall anyone missing any meetings.”

  “Mr Santini, we’re also told that you were transferred back to normal duties before the final report was completed.”

  “No, that’s not so.” Santini sounds puzzled. “I signed the final report that went to the house committee.”

  “That’s strange,” I say. “Can you tell me which tender your report finally recommended, Mr Santini?”

  “Why, it recommended the bid from Able-Air, of course. They were ahead all through the evaluation. I... I...” The stutter and the fear seem to return.

  “What? That’s not our information.”

  “Well, your information’s wrong. The... the Able-Air bid wasn’t the cheapest, but it offered substantial down-stream savings. One of the biggest costs with jet aircraft is the on-going expense of maintenance. The Able-Air people offered a bundled service deal that was twice as cheap as the next best. Over five years it would save us billions—much more than the difference in the purchase price. Moreover, the deal was for a well-proven aircraft that some of our pilots are already familiar with from joint training exercises with NATO. Yes, it was the right choice all right.”

  “What about the claims that people were bribed to favor Able-Air?”

  “It’s crazy as far as I can see.” Santini is warming to the cause now: I guess that he’s relieved to be able to speak to somebody about it. “The Able-Air people must have known that they were doing well in the evaluation. Why would they risk the whole deal by offering people bribes?”

  “These things do happen, though, don’t they? There’s been a string of scandals in defense procurement...”

  “That’s in the past. We cleaned things up years ago. Look, if you work in defense procurement, you hear about those corporations that try to bend the rules. Able-Air has never been one of them—we’d know if they were. And corruption’s not common, not really. The thing is, anybody who tries to offer a bribe has a good chance of getting it rejected and reported. That would blow the attempted briber out of the water. A corporation that knows it’s losing might try to offer an inducement out of desperation, but not a company that thinks it is in with a good chance. It just wouldn’t make sense.”

  “I’m puzzled, Mr Santini.” And that’s an understatement, man. “If what you say is true, where did these stories come from?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe somebody’s set this reporter up with false information. What the hell, I’m satisfied that my hands are clean. All I’ve got to do now is reassure my political masters—and my wife. That bastard journalist has got her half-convinced that I’ve been whoring my way across France—even though she knows I haven’t been out of the States in the last two years!”

  I thank him and ring off. I walk back into Kathleen’s room and tell her what Santini has said.

  “Do you think he’s telling the truth?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I say, considering. “I think I do.”

  “It’s not what the records say. I’ve found two lots of traces on his movements, showi
ng that he traveled to France just as the reporter claimed. Likewise, his colleagues on the evaluation team.”

  “The computer system says one thing and the man says something different. Which is real? Who do we believe nowadays, man or machine?” I frown and rub the side of my nose, thinking. “How about the bank records?”

  “That’s difficult. I haven’t been able to get into all of the banks. I’m just going through the ones I can access. This is one now.”

  I lean closer, trying to ignore the scent of her perfume. I watch as she goes through a succession of inquiry screens until...

  “Eureka!”

  I look at the name at the top of the screen: it is one of the officials named in the earlier file. Below the title line, there’s a long list of transactions, details of the official’s dealings through his personal bank account. Kathleen begins to bring new pages onto the screen.

  “There!” It’s hard to miss. In between the lines of payments to loan companies and utilities are two that stand out. The amount on the first is a million dollars. The transaction shows a credit from a corporation called Universal Crop-Dusters. A second transaction shows an equivalent transfer to a foreign bank with a German-sounding name.

  “What’s the betting that Universal Crop-Dusters is a subsidiary of Able-Air,” I muse, “and that that foreign bank is located somewhere in Geneva?”

  Kathleen shakes her head. “It’s too obvious. No senior official who’s on the take would be stupid enough to pass an amount like that through his own bank account.”

  I sigh. What she says makes sense. As usual. “Can you access the audit trails again?”

  “I can try.”

  It takes her another forty minutes, but she makes it. “It’s the same as before. The obvious audit trails all look correct, but the lower level ones just aren’t where they should be.”

  “So?”

  “These records are all phony.”

  12

  I go off to make coffee while Kathleen continues to try to trace information that will disprove the Able-Air allegations. On the way back from the kitchen, I check my watch and then detour into the boardroom and turn on the big TV that’s normally kept concealed behind the doors of a wooden sideboard. When she hears the sound of CNN, Kathleen wanders in and takes one of the steaming mugs from my hand.

  The on-the-hour news broadcast leads off with the Able-Air allegations and the news that the government has issued a full denial of the charges. In return, Stephen Garner has again challenged the government to open its files.

  The anchorman goes on to talk about the findings of the latest opinion poll on the respective candidates’ election chances. The poll had been taken before the latest accusations of government corruption, explains the anchorman, which make the results even more worrying for the White House incumbent. They show the President lying third, with the established opposition candidate running neck-and-neck with Stephen Garner. Targeted polls covering young, elderly and minority voters now show Garner as a clear leader. Most tellingly, Garner is now close to gaining a majority in key West Coast states. For the first time, it seems he may gain enough electoral votes to pose at least a serious challenge to the status quo.

  ***

  The only jarring note for Garner supporters comes towards the end of the news broadcast. The anchorman hands over to a political commentator for an assessment of the political situation. I vaguely recognize the face: Aidan Powell. I remember Jackie talking about him once. A one-time television journalist in the United Kingdom, he was apparently wounded during the attempted assassination of a British politician in Northern Ireland. Since his recovery, he has relocated, sometime in the last few months, to the States. A strange case, according to Jackie: he is rumored to have developed agoraphobia and an obsession with avoiding crowds. His credentials as a political analyst of genius have been enough to gain him a place in network news but he works from home and avoids all contact with other people. Not surprising, I guess. Having people shoot bullets at you could tend to make you just a little anti-social.

  Powell summarizes the events of the last few days in a calm, impartial manner. Although, he says, the allegations put the present administration in a very poor light, viewers are urged to consider some of the other issues involved.

  “For example,” he says in summary, “we have not yet heard how this series of embarrassing leaks came about. Does the exposure of governmental wrongdoing, if that is what it is, justify the possibly illegal acquisition of information belonging to others? And, beyond this, we have to consider what this type of acrimonious election campaign is doing to the democratic process that we all hold so dear.”

  The scene switches back to the anchorman, who proceeds to introduce the weather report. Spring’s short-lived rally seems to have lost its way and rain cloud symbols cover the map of the entire state. I flick the set off in disgust.

  “That guy Powell does tend to pontificate but at least he tries to present both sides of the argument. Maybe we should try talking to him. Something tells me we’re going to need a friend with his sort of influence.”

  Kathleen looks doubtful. “Why don’t you ask your friend at the network?”

  13

  * I cannot give you anything else, predator. You have seen all there is to see.

  > Come on. There must be more.

  * No more. Sorry. I’ll keep trying and let you know if i discover anything.

  > Hell with that. Just let me back into the system.

  * I don’t think that’s such a good idea, predator.

  Predator is ready to start chewing the carpet in frustration. It had all been going so well. He had brought Alex back to the computer in his room and shown him the information he had obtained, finally convincing the journalist that it was genuine. All the time he had kept him at arms length, playing him like a fish on a line. No way was he going to let Alex see how to get into the system. He had a pretty good idea what would happen if he did that. Alex would move in and it would be so long little cousin. So he keeps the entry screens away from the prying eyes. And he keeps the IDs and passwords to himself. And he avoids all reference to his shadowy assistant.

  Bambi is all his.

  In any case, that’s the way Bambi, whoever he really is, wants it. No publicity. Not even a share of the money. Strange that, thinks Predator, and he wonders for the hundredth time just who Bambi really is. Like, what are his, you know, motives? Still, if the dude wants to hang cool, that’s cool with the Predator. He might wonder, but he ain’t gonna look a gift hoss in the dentures.

  Except the gift hoss has turned into a bit of a mule.

  > What are you afraid of, bambi?

  * I’m not afraid of anything, predator.

  > Then why not let me in? I might be able to find things you don’t know about.

  * I doubt that. The system is for me to work in. As i have told you, as soon as i find anything else that i think you’ll be interested in, i’ll let you know.

  “That’s no fucking good.” Doesn’t this bastard know that it’s the chase that’s the thing? The hunt for access, the thrill of discovery, sneaking in where nobody has gone before. Predator wants to be a hunter, in on the quest like the hero in a hundred computer games. Much as he would grab the chance for more information—he’s proved, after all, that there is real money in it—he needs more than that.

  “What’s wrong with you, you bastard?” This Bambi is one of his own kind. Doesn’t he understand what drives people like him?

  > This should be a partnership, bambi.

  * It is, predator. But i do the spadework. You can have the glory.

  > Not good enough. I want the action, too.

  * Just wait. When i am ready i will let you know more. I’m sure it will be worth it.

  > No. I want in now or you’re on your own.

  * That’s most unreasonable of you, predator. Haven’t i done enough for you already?

  > Sure, it’s been great. But i want more. It’s only human.
Come on, you can understand that.

  * Yes, i understand, predator.

  A pause. Predator pulls his hand back from the keyboard. Let the bastard sweat. I ain’t gonna to be used.

  * A question, predator.

  > Sure. Go ahead.

  * I feel i know you so well. Do you mind if i call you david? That is your real name, isn’t it?

  14

  The next morning, I take the bus to work, actually managing to win a seat for the last part of the journey. I unfold the morning paper and glance at the headlines. The government’s attempts to defend itself from the latest accusations of corruption dominate the front page but, for all the vehemence of the denials, it’s apparent that the President is still not prepared to open up any official computer systems. I wonder just what thoughts must be going through the minds of our country’s leaders and their advisers. I suspect that they must be very confused—as well as very worried—people.

  As the bus lurches through the traffic, I think about where we left things the previous night. After the shock of further discovery, we decided to wait until we could talk to Jackie before taking any other action. This means a delay and I’m nervous, to say the least, about our safety in the meantime. When we left the building last night, Kathleen and I stood in the shadowy lobby for ten minutes, watching the street, before deciding that it was safe to leave and walk to our cars. Even then, I left first and made sure I wasn’t being followed before parking the Morgan a few streets away and waiting for Kathleen’s car to pass me. Then I followed her until she arrived at her parent’s house, waiting outside once more until she was safely through the front door. We’ve both agreed to take all sensible precautions today to protect ourselves against a possible unseen enemy.